Homeless

Chapter 1

Homeless: a person without a home, and therefore typically living on the streets.

Whether it was by choice or not, the dictionary had deemed it an irrelevant detail. Most likely because it is implied that it would be without a choice. After all, who would decide by their own free will to leave the comfort of a home, or at least a house, to live on the cold, merciless

Technically, I did have a choice. And I chose the streets. I chose to have the sky as my roof and the cold pavement as my bed. A choice I still did not regret, and I doubt I ever would.

But was it truly a choice if the house I had left had very little to offer compared to the streets I was wandering? Doubtful.

Though the previous question was fundamentally flawed. To say that house had very little to offer would be an understatement, since it didn't really offer anything. All it did was take. Mercilessly. Savagely. Relentlessly.

Until I had a reason and the courage to leave.

Leave, never looking back to that dark place where I had lost more pieces of myself than I knew existed.

The darkness currently surrounding me was better than the one I'd left behind. The playground tunnel sheltering us from the heavy downpour was dark, but I'd gladly take this darkness. My bones groaned when I sat up, and I waited until a wave of dizziness subsided before moving my head. Must be the hunger.

"Mark, are you still cold?"

My little brother cracked open his eyelids. He shook his head before snuggling into the blanket again. I had snatched it from a bench one cold morning. The bench was previously occupied by an older, homeless man. I took advantage of the time he had gone to empty his bladder and took his blanket.

It's the streets, what was he expecting? He should've kept a more watchful eye on his belongings.

Stealing, surviving, what was the difference?

I dozed off again, never really falling asleep. Someone had to keep watch for danger. Something the streets never lack. From wandering junkies and drug dealers to perverts. All sorts of perverts. Even police officers. Especially police officers. I'd rather have to face a criminal than a police officer. The former I could always find a way to escape or cut with my little handy knife, then disappear, the latter would be the more difficult to escape, because once you're in their radar, it'd be harder to live on the streets in peace- relatively in peace.

The pitter-patter of rain slowed down its pace until it faded into the morning noise of the city- revving engines, car horns and distant chatter. I jerked. The noise snapped me out of my sleep-like state.

Another day in paradise.

Luckily for us, with the rain pouring down unexpectedly these past few days, no one really brought their kids to the park. So we had this place for ourselves as long as the heavily loaded clouds hovered over the city.

"Hungry", Mark muttered. Blinking his blue eyes open, he sat up. His fingers were already moving under the blanket. Stimming.

"Okay, look what I got for you here," I said, searching in my worn-out backpack for the wrapped biscuits a kindhearted lady had given me the day before.

I took half a and gave mark the remaining two. Eagerly, he stuffed his mouth with one and munched on it like he had been starving for ages. My heart ached for him. Why couldn't I provide a better life for him?

To do that, I needed money. There are only two ways to have money, either make it or take it.

Taking money would entail either receiving charity or taking matters in my own hands -quite literally. I took whatever cash a charitable soul would offer me, but I never stole from anyone unless it was a matter of survival for my brother -case in point: the blanket I had taken from the homeless man. I wasn't going to let my brother freeze to death.